


That Bridge Was Burned

by RenaRoo



Series: Angst War [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Other, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason sees the signs, but he doesn't believe them. Doesn't think about them. He just knows that Dick is not doing alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Bridge Was Burned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red-dye-number-five](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=red-dye-number-five).



> Prompt: ( red-dye-number-five ) Angst War Prompt: write a fic in which Dick and Jason both deal with previous sexual assault/rape trauma’s
> 
> A/N: I said in my Angst War post that I wouldn’t write explicit romance or sexual assault/rape, but after inflicting Little Pieces on my friend, I agreed to this one as a way to make amends – plus it’s a past trauma so I don’t have to write the assault itself. *sigh* I suck at these things, but I did my best. Hope it’s better than I suspect it is.

The fire is angrily licking at the black clouds, too hot and wild to falter even the slightest under the April downpour. The heat is strong enough that Jason can feel it from the roof across the street. He doesn't need to wait for the fire department to know no one is coming out of the apartment.

What he _does_ need to know is why Dick -- _Nightwing_ \-- is standing on the sidewalk dumbstruck.

He's not positioned ready, or even steady for that matter. Jason thinks that should the wind pick up any, Dick would be swept away boneless and without resistance. For the Robin known for sticking his landings, Dick's posture is unbecoming.

Jason hits the ground behind Dick, wondering how long the older man has been standing in the overwhelming heat.

Even though Jason's boots splash the water rolling over the concrete just three feet behind Dick, the man does not so much as flinch. He's just staring, blankly.

For a moment, Jason is concerned he is missing something important -- an obvious life threatening injury or some sort of stasis beam, which are equally plausible in the situation -- until he grabs Dick's shoulder with a, "Hey!" and is immediately rewarded by being kicked into the building behind them.

Now Jason is _certain_ he missed something in all of this.

"The fuck is your deal?" he hisses before pushing off the wall, fists ready to brawl with the former Robin.

Dick is pale, his hair longer than Jason's seen it in a while and sticking to his face in clotted patches. There's an uneven tremble in the man's shoulders and his jaw is clenched despite looking otherwise mortified to see Jason was on the other end of that kick.

"I'm," Dick manages, mouth gaping slightly before clamping shut again. He lets out a breath, looks back around at the building.

"Was that supposed to be an apology?" Jason asks critically, still eying the man whose shadow he once fell under (is still under, if he admits it to himself, which he makes an effort in not doing).

"Someone did this," Dick says, rounding back, eyes and voice not quite matching the way his fingers are flexing to keep from shaking. "Protection racket in this neighborhood."

"I know who did it," Jason responds with a growl. Business first. He can do that. "I'm paying them a visit."

Coldly, Dick's eyes narrowing as his body tenses to match for the first time since Jason approached him, he says, "No. We _both_ are."

*

The gang wars on the East End are nothing new, but the newest wave has escalated to outright violence and destruction rather quickly. Even by Jason's standards, and he's rather stringent with the residential areas.

Jason knew it was only a matter of time before Batman himself encroached on his territory to try and "lighten the load." He never dreamed Bruce would send one of the "underlings," even Dick, to clean up shop.

Watching Dick now has Jason sure that it isn't the case at all…

There's aways been a bit of a edge to Dick's fighting Jason was aware of, maybe even a little impressed with. Dick can make a punch count but he can also put it where it hurts, and it goes double when he _wants_ to.

Tonight, Dick _wants_ to make it hurt.

There's an apartment of screaming victims who didn't know what hit them who seem to be telling Jason the little bit of additional bed rest these sons of bitches are going to need is more than worth it. He rams his foot into his opponents chest just that much harder as a result.

Jason brawls and Dick, well, he _flings_ himself at the unsuspecting parties, most not even getting a shot out before they've been put down.

It's… wild, Jason thinks. The way Dick combs through the room, seeming to forget Jason is even there with him.

When he notices Dick is taking hits, though, is when Jason decides to put an end to it, that there's something sickeningly familiar in the way his once-mentor and brother is shock white and apparently unfeeling that Jason doesn't quite feel like addressing. And that Golden Boy isn't being particularly mindful about whether or not he gets shot today.

Jason aims his gun. "Get down!" he warns before firing at the armed man in the doorway.

There's a scream as the perp falls groping at his bleeding shoulder, legs kicking out in a classic reaction of Jason's usual suspects -- far more capable of shooting a bullet than taking one non-lethally for themselves.

So it takes a moment for him to register that the "NO!" screamed isn't from any of the suspects.

It's a moment longer than he had to waste, though, as he's disarmed and on the ground in a pin with a snarling Dick looming over him.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Jason roars back before kicking out, knocking Dick off of him and rolling to his feet. He pulls out his Kris. Something about Dick isn't right and it's eating at the edge of Jason's mind, refusing to form a coherent thought. "Are you laced with something?"

"We don't _kill!"_ Dick screams, his breath picking up.

It doesn't make sense. Jason knows Dick has had all the same training as him and then some from Bruce. He knows Dick can control his breath under duress. It might be Scarecrow toxin. It might be something else.

"He ain't fucking _dead,_ Goldie," Jason snarls back. "Who did you run into before I ran into you?"

Dick is taking a step back, swallowing hard. Jason doesn't like the way he's staring. Almost like he's not looking at Jason at all.

"It… was murder," Dick strings together.

"We're missing part of the conversation here," Jason snaps with a wave of his weapon. "I'd like to be kept up to speed if it means you're going to attack me again tonight. Something I _promise you_ you will be paying back for, by the way."

Dick's face is unreadable, he tilts his head enough to look down at Jason before turning and taking only a few steps away from his spot. Jason's ready to shout out at him when the man bumps his shoulder against the wall and presses against it, stopping completely.

He's still breathing like he ran a marathon.

"Alright, I've seen enough," Jason sheathes his Kris and steps heavily on his way over to Dick's side, making sure the other man knows he's being approached. "We're getting out of here."

Jason reaches for Dicks arm to pull him up only to be jerked away from. Dick glares at him with eyes that are too wide even from behind his mask.

"Don't touch me!" Dick spits out.

"Then walk out of here!" Jason responds. "I'll let you walk right the fuck out, but as strung out as you're acting there's no way in _hell_ I'm leaving you standing here alone. So what's it going to be?"

Shakily breathing still, Dick pushes off from the wall, stands tall.

"The roof then?" Jason asks, ready to get to the bottom of this, as much as it cools the pit of his stomach.

"No," Dick says, voice surprisingly small as he looks to his feet. "No. Not the roof."

"Fine," Jason says, studying Dick carefully. "I've got a place."

*

Jason has no idea how they made it back to the safe house, but he's not prone to questioning miracles anyway. It was slow going, and now that they're here and Dick's sitting on one of the dinky plastic chairs Jason moved in from the kitchenette, it's even slower.

They haven't shared any words since they left the building.

Without explaining himself, Jason goes to the sink, finds a cup from the cabinet, and fills it with as cold of water from the tap as Gotham can offer before returning to Dick. Jay has to forcefully shove the cup into the man's hands and close his fingers around them.

It takes a while for Dick to register what's in his hands and he then carefully drinks from the cup, his body seeming to wake up as he downs the water.

Quietly, the elder vigilante makes eye contact with Jason who leans back against the counter and crosses his arms.

"Are you on something?" Jay asks seriously.

That immediately causes Dick's face to drop into a scowl. "No! Why would you even--"

"You tell me," Jason snaps back. "Kick me into a wall, pin me to the floor -- you _know_ I've taken guys fingers off for less. So you better give me an explanation for why I don't ship you back to Daddy War-bats with a few broken ribs and a firm ass kicking." He looks Dick up and down. "And you look like shit -- when's the last time you took that uniform off?"

Taking a breath, Dick lowers his head, almost to his knees. His hair's still dripping.

If Jason felt like being a little nicer, he'd offer a towel. As it still stands, he's not certain if turning his back on Dick's the best idea right now.

Dick begins wringing his hands. "It's… I…" he pauses, takes another breath. "Have… you ever been outside of your own body?"

Taken slightly off guard, Jason drops his hands and blinks. "Excuse me?"

"That's… that's not completely right," Dick mutters, running one of his shaking hand's fingers through his long locks. "Have you… Have you ever been so numb… it, it's like nothing happening to you feels real? Like your'e just… watching. And… you know you should be doing something different, but nothing works. No. You don't _know._ You just… are recording. There's no _thinking."_

Jason sets his jaw. He's not so sure about the direction of this conversation. No. He doesn't like it, that's for sure. "What are we talking about, Dick?"

"Moments where… things… happen to you," Dick continues, voice now so quiet that Jason takes a step closer to hear despite every joint in his body fighting him. "Have you ever… felt things happen to you… after they're done. Like… you were locked up and numb because… because your body didn't want you to feel these things. And-and then it stops. And you… you feel it come back. Even though it's not happening again."

Immediately regretting his steps forward, Jason tightens his hands into fists by his side. He glares at Dick intently. "Why are you asking me this?"

He waits, not getting an answer from Dick whose forehead is now resting on his knees. His body's trembling.

"Dick, you better have a good fucking reason for asking me this, _so tell me,"_ Jason says, his voice wavering in the end more than he would normally allow. He feels every hair on his body standing straight up. "I'm serious."

After a moment, Jason hears the small voice, "I… It was just… the apartment… Blockbuster --"

"This has nothing to do with Blockbuster," Jason responds automatically, feeling his anger and bile rising. Then it hits him, he's familiar with this story. "…does it, Dick?"

There's a sharp inhale. "I let her," Dick says.

"Her? Tarantula?" Jason had heard when she was busted out by some morons, a makeshift team of mercs and super villains. The only reason she even made it to his radar is because her indictment included Nightwing's name.

"I let her… kill him…" Dick breathes against his thighs. "I let… her… _we don't kill_ … and then I let her…" He finally looks at Jason, his face as distraught as Jay has ever seen it. "I let her… but I _couldn't_ stop her… do you… do you have any idea what that's like?"

Jason grits his teeth, he feels like his chest is ready to burst. "Why the _fuck_ did you ask me that? I don't know what you're talking about," he lies, seething. "But I'll gladly find that _punta_ and make it to where she can make amends in Hell with your buddy Blockie if you want me to."

Dick puts his face in his hands. _"We don't kill…"_

"Problem," Jason growls. "There is no _'we,'_ there's a _me_ and I will do whatever the fuck I want. And right now, I feel like crushing a spider with my boot!"

Just as Jason's making for his equipment locker, he notices the way Dick's shoulders arch in on themselves and the emotion runs off of his face. The man's staring statically at the floor, completely withdrawn.

"Don't," Dick says, barely a whisper. "I… let her… it's all… on me..."

Not sure how much more of this he can take, Jason turns to his cabinet and rests his head on it, eyes closing as he curses under his breath.

"No, it's not," Jason replies, turning back and approaching Dick. He drops to his knee beside his once -- his _brother._ Carefully, he puts a hand on Dick's shoulder, not pulling back when Dick flinches. "You look at me," he orders, waiting until Dick does so. He shakes Dick once. "It is _not_ your fault. I will not let you say it is. Do you understand me? _It is not your fault."_

Dick looks worn beyond his age. "I… you weren't there… you… you can't know that."

It takes everything in him to not lower his head. "Believe me on this, alright?" he says darkly. "You… you gotta just admit to yourself this wasn't anything to do with you. That she's just a sick fuck, alright? Can you say that?"

For the first time tonight, Dick seems to actually be studying Jason's face. "Why?"

Jason draws his mouth to a tight frown. It takes a moment, to say this with the weight it requires, but he finally manages it.

"Dick, I _know."_


End file.
